Somewhere Along The Road
by Chiiyo86
Summary: Nothing has ever kept Sam from following his own path. And he knows that to gain what you want, you have to be willing to pay the price. Pre-series, companion piece to "Not Really A Believer".


Note: _To those who have read "Not Really A Believer", I'm so sorry for the long wait! To those who haven't, I really recommend that you do, because the two fics really complete each other. This one shot have been beta'ed by Wave Obscura. Everyone should thank her for that!_

Disclaimer: _I don't own anything Supernatural related._

_**- Somewhere Along The Road -**_

In the bus to California, far from everything he has ever known, Sam is crying – real tears rolling down his cheeks and sobs shaking his whole frame. The tension and anger that have helped him keep it together have vanished, and he now feels nothing more than awful emptiness and loneliness. Which is rather ironic considering that he's the one leaving. _How can you turn your back to this family_...?

He angrily wipes his tears and tries to find in himself some of the fire that enabled him to slam the door on his enraged father and on his silent and despondent brother. He sniffs loudly, swallows to ease the lump in his throat. The old lady sitting next to him gives him a tissue, compassion in her eyes. He takes it awkwardly with a slightly trembling smile.

"Whatever makes you so sad, I'm sure it will be all right," she says gently.

"Oh, it's nothing. I'm okay. I'm just a little ... But I'm better now. Thank you."

He blows his nose, smiles again at the woman with more confidence, then turns his head toward the window and watches the landscape unfolding. There're only fields as far as he can see, flat and monotonous – just watching it makes him sleepy. Sam wonders what state they're driving through. Maybe Missouri, or Kansas – and wouldn't that be appropriate, as if he was temporarily going back home.

He closes his eyes and he can see everything again behind his eyelids – the screaming, things breaking, his father's face deformed by anger. He's argued with his father a thousand times, fights that were always stormy and passionate, but it had never been like this. He thinks _'So that's what the end of the world looks like'_, and he can't muster the energy to feel anything more than numbness. He can't feel any grief, and neither can he be excited at the thought of all the opportunities awaiting him. All he wants to do is to sleep and not to wake up until the bus reaches its destination.

He still wants to trust that everything will be fine, because he's leaving to find a new life, a better life, and if he can't make the most of it then it will be all for nothing. Sam has always known what he wants, as he has always known he would have to fight to obtain it.

And that's a good thing because fighting is all he knows. He's been doing it for eighteen years.

The Stanford campus is huge and intimidating. There're too many people, too much excitement – freshmen moving in, nervous and excited, their families buzzing around them, students laughing and joking with their friends – and Sam feels lost and lonely in a way he has never felt in his life.

He's not really agoraphobic, but after a lifetime around cemeteries, forests, abandoned warehouses and other deserted places, he's not very comfortable in the crowd, and despite a sense of direction sharpened by his father's training, he manages to lose his way twice before he finds his dorms.

His roommate's name is Marcus. He's short for his age – he's nearly two heads smaller than Sam – with messy brown hair and eyes of a pale shade of blue. He looks at least one year younger than he really is.

He eyes Sam critically, head to feet, as if he were standing in front of some rare specimen that needs to be studied. Sam feels himself blush a little under the assessing look, but he manages to stay calm.

"Where are you from?" Marcus asks.

Sam instinctively tenses, and his walls immediately build up, without even needing to think about it.

"I was born in Kansas," he answers noncommittally. "In Lawrence," he adds, for the sake of authenticity.

It's nothing but the truth, and anyway experience has taught Sam that his eyes reflect truthfulness even when he's telling the worst lies, but he can't help feeling uncomfortable. He's going to live with this boy, and he's already not being exactly honest with him. What he's trying to escape keeps sticking to him like old chewing gum, and it leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

"My uncle Billy lives in Kansas."

Sam begins to feel uneasy with where this conversation is going. He's never done more than stay briefly in Kansas – except for the first six months of his life, of course – always as far as possible from Lawrence, and he doesn't know the state better than any of the others he's been through. Fortunately, Marcus doesn't seem to need more than the sheer pleasure of the sound of his own voice, and Sam isn't asked to participate much to the conversation.

He's only half-listening to Marcus babbling about the ranch run by Uncle Billy, his roommate's voice barely more than a lulling noise in the background, when he's assailed by sudden and brutal melancholy. He's looking around at the room, the cream wallpaper, the gray carpet, the two beds with their blue bedspreads, the drawers built into the walls, the desks in each corner, the single window, and he thinks – the voice in his head sounding like Dean's – _So that's your life, now. This room, Marcus, with his Uncle Billy and his fucking ranch in Kansas. Normal. Welcome home, Dorothy._ Right now the thought brings him more discomfort than joy.

He breathes in, deeply, and puts his duffle bag on one of the beds. For one moment, he feels so out of place that it takes all his will power not to grab his phone and call his brother to come get him. But it would mean giving up, and Sam never gives up. A Winchester never gives up. And then he thinks about his father's face, grim and determined, about his father saying: _'If you go...',_ and he remembers he doesn't have much of a choice, anyway.

He tells himself it'll get better once classes have started, because that's the reason he's come all the way to here, that he's broken up with his family, so he'd have the chance to learn and follow his own path. If he steps back now, he just knows he would regret it all his life.

"Um, tell me, Sam, do you like horror movies? 'Cause I've brought a few with me. I love them, I mean, it's nice to have a little scare from time to time, knowing it's bullshit, and everything. I don't know, what d'you think?"

First taken aback by the question which seems to come out of nowhere – or maybe not, if he had been listening to his roommate's soliloquy – Sam remains silent for a few minutes, then bursts out laughing, as Marcus watches him, stunned. That's enough to lighten his mood, if just a little.

--

Life at college is a little like life on Mars – foreign, disorienting, and a little frightening.

The campus is huge – it's the first thing that struck Sam when he arrived – organized like a small town, a microcosm obeying its own rules and its own hierarchy, and Sam finds it quite fascinating, though confusing.

All the freshmen feel lost, Sam can see it, but at least they can relate to each other. But Sam comes from a world so different from theirs, more a foreigner than any of them. It's strange, because that's precisely what he wanted to escape, but he's never been so acutely aware of it.

He decides that he's like the first settlers, leaving Europe and everything they have ever known and loved, looking for a new life, conquering a vast and terrifying territory full of promises, and whenever he feels his will weaken, he replays this image in his mind.

He tackles normal life like the Winchester he can't stop being, with the same focus and determination he has in a fight – he can almost hear his father's calm voice _"Focus, Sammy. Never stop watching your opponent, don't let him catch you by surprise. You let your guard down just one second and you're dead_," Dean's teasing _"Oh, Sammy, I swear, all I need to kick your ass is to let you stumble on your own feet"._ The efforts he puts into being normal probably betray that he's not normal, indeed, but he holds onto the hope that it will get easier with time. It's like fighting, shooting a gun, or driving – at first it requires intense focus, and then it's all instinctive.

People around him represent so many potential friends, it makes him dizzy. In his former life, he'd never had friends he could keep, but he can now bond with people who are his age and like the same things he does, people with who he can share something else than military training, grave digging, and hunting of things that should not exist outside of men's imagination – in other words, people who're not Dean. But to be normal for him is like walking in a minefield: most of the time, he's not aware he's done or said anything weird before it blows up his face.

It's not long before Marcus begins to look at him sideways. Between them, it's not exactly war – if Sam is honest, he has to admit that Marcus isn't a mean guy – but isn't love either. The problem is that Sam never really feels able to lower his guard with him, especially as he starts to realize how inquisitive Marcus is, and not very open-minded.

Several incidents betray Sam despite his caution, some comical, and some frankly bizarre. One day, for instance, the building's electrical system malfunctions.

Of course, Sam knows that the wiring can be defective for perfectly innocent reasons, like, age, poor maintenance, voluntary human malice. But he also knows, because that's how he was brought up, that the lights flashing on and off could be a sign of electromagnetic disturbance indicative of a spirit lurking around.

Or worse, a demon. Sam is lying in his bed, staring at his bedside lamp, which light keeps going on and off, and it's driving him crazy, slowly but surely. In the next bed, Marcus is sleeping soundly, blissfully unaware.

Sam is torn. The sensible thing to do – for a Winchester, at least – would be to protect the door and the window with a line of salt, but that would seem weird to Marcus – and to everyone who heard about it – or even downright crazy.

_Christ, Sammy, use that impressive brain of yours. What is worse, being ridiculous or being dead?_

Since his arrival at Stanford, Sam hasn't been quite alone in his own head, a disturbing experience. His brother's voice never leaves him. He doesn't hear him as if he was really there – thank God, he's not schizophrenic yet – and he's fully aware that it's only in his head, but the voice is insistent and almost as exasperating as the real thing. Sam and Dean grew up with virtually no personal boundaries, and each step of Sam's life has been accompanied by his big brother's comments in the background, so Sam assumes that his mind is just trying to fill the gap.

Before he's even aware of what he's doing, Sam gets up and rummages through his things for the salt he keeps with him as a precaution, because better safe than sorry, or in this case, better to keep some sodium chloride than risk dismemberment by a goddamn vengeful spirit.

Sam carefully draws lines of salt at the door and the window before going back to bed. His head barely touches the pillow before he's dead to the world.

The next day, of course, Marcus can't miss the salt all over their room. Sam pretends he doesn't know anything about it, but Marcus is not convinced, because obviously he knows _he _didn't do it, and the idea that someone entered the room during the night armed with a saltshaker is simply ludicrous. Fortunately, the following days bring no sign of anything supernatural.

It doesn't help Marcus' impression of Sam when a few weeks later, Sam forgets the key to his room, and to get in when he comes back in the evening, picks the lock without even thinking about it. Marcus was inside, and had just found the key that Sam left on his desk. Explaining _that_ proved to be quite the difficult task.

Despite his efforts, Sam can't stop rumors from spreading, and a few months after school has started, a lot of information is available about Sam Winchester.

Sam Winchester doesn't talk about his family, ever. Or about his childhood, or where he grew up. Maybe he was abused as a child, or is an orphan, who went through many foster families. Sam Winchester can open any lock with no more than a paperclip – which has been very useful to several absent-minded students who lost their keys. Sam Winchester is strangely obsessed with salt. Sam Winchester has an amazing knowledge of Latin – and of other various topics, some of them exotic. Sam Winchester isn't someone with who you'd want to pick a fight, despite appearances – as demonstrated an incident with some drunk students, one night when Sam was going back to his room after spending the afternoon at the library.

But after some time, Sam realizes that people in college are far more tolerant than in high school. When one of his friends tells him that people says about him that he's "a little weird, but a cool guy anyway", Sam thinks that he can live with that.

---

Marcus doesn't look anything like Dean – he has nothing of the restrained power and the lethal grace that characterize Sam's big brother – but he seems to share his most frustrating characteristics.

Lying on his bed, a book in his hands that he's probably supposed to be reading and the earphones of his CD player stuffed in his ears, he's tapping the tempo against the headboard of his bed and snapping his chewing gum. Again and _again_. The kind of thing Dean would do when he was bored and had nothing better to do than get on his little brother's nerves. In Marcus's case, Sam can't say if he's doing it on purpose or not.

He keeps glancing in his roommate's direction, hoping to catch his attention, and tries to ostentatiously clear his throat – but fails to cross the noisy barrier of music. If it were Dean, Sam would have already ripped the earphones off his ears and made his dissatisfaction known, even if he had to use violence – hey, it's not as if Dean didn't know how to defend himself. But Marcus isn't the brother with whom he grew up and who nearly raised him, and Sam would like to avoid further alienating the person he'll be sharing a room with for an indefinite period of time.

He tries to focus on the books open in front of him, but the noises betraying Marcus's presence prevent him from succeeding. If he's really honest with himself, he has to recognize that it's not so much the noise that's affecting his concentration as the fact that Marcus isn't the person he's used having at his side.

He casts another look at Marcus, and sighs. He misses his brother. He's been here for nearly two months, but hasn't called Dean as he's said he would, not once. He almost did, several times, took his phone and scrolled through the list of numbers, but has never taken the last step and called.

There's always been a good reason; it was either too late – Dean was probably in the middle of a hunt, or in the company of a woman – or it was too early – and Dean would be sleeping, and wouldn't appreciate his rest interrupted. Or there was the possibility of Dad being around, and hearing the conversation, or worse, answering to the phone, and Sam doesn't want to have anything to do with his father, who has _chased _him away, damn it – two can play that game.

Obviously, it doesn't help that the Winchesters have always had such irregular work hours. But there's also a part of Sam, the part that has been wanting to assert his independence for several years now, to stop being the baby of the family, that wants to prove to Dean that he can do it alone, that he doesn't need his brother to hold his hand and protect him from everything. Sam wants to count for himself, _Sam, _and no longer to be the "son of" or the "brother of", and he fears that if he calls too early, Dean would interpret it as a sign that he can't manage without him.

Deciding that he's suffocating in his room, Sam closes his books and gathers his things so he can keep working in the library, where he hopes to meet a few friends. He generally prefers to work alone, but when missing Dean becomes too much to bear, he likes to be around people. This is one aspect of his new life he enjoys a lot – the possibility for him to see people he likes and who are not his family whenever he wants to.

"I'm going to the library, see you later."

Marcus answers with a vague gesture of the hand and an indifferent "Mm hm".

Sam has always loved libraries – which is one of the reasons why he was so often the researcher during hunts, another reason being that it's the safer part of hunting. He likes the quiet, studious, almost religious atmosphere, the shelves full of books, and the scattered groups of people, everyone absorbed in their work as if nothing else in the world mattered.

He's looking for familiar faces, and soon finds on a blond-haired head he knows. Rebecca Warren has several classes with him, and they've quickly become friends, despite a difference in social background, which made Sam a little uncomfortable at the beginning – Becky's parents are rich, while Sam and Dean grew up in something akin to poverty. He goes to her table, smiling.

"Hi, Becky."

His friend starts and lets out a small cry – which earns her some scowls from the students around them.

"Sam!" she says, a hand on her chest. "You scared the crap out of me! You should try making some noise when you're walking."

"Uh, sorry. Can I sit down?"

"Sure. Here, I'll make you some room."

Sam sits and nods at the other people around the table. There's a guy with brown hair that he recognizes as Becky's brother, Zach, who is one year older, and a redhead girl who Sam doesn't know. Becky follows his eyes and immediately introduces them to each other.

"Sam, meet my roommate, Karen Wane. Karen, Sam Winchester."

The girl smiles, and Sam mumbles the usual pleasantries.

"Winchester... like the rifle?"

Sam chuckles.

"Yeah, like the rifle."

"Oh, sorry, you must hear that all the time."

"No need to apologize, it's all right."

Truth to be told, Sam kind of likes his name. In spite of their tragic family history, in spite of the bitterness he feels toward his father, he's a Winchester and it means something, even if the rest of the world ignores it.

"Seriously, Sam," Becky says, "you're the most silent person I know. You walk like, I don't know, a secret agent ... Or a serial killer. It's creepy."

Even knowing that Becky is teasing him, Sam can't help but feel defensive. To move without making any noise is part of the training he received, and he doesn't even think about it most of the time, but he doesn't like that it marks him as strange and different.

Zach smiles mockingly at his sister.

"Don't worry. If Sam had been a danger, I would've protected you. Probably."

"Uh, not very reassuring, bro, especially since Sam is bigger and I think stronger than you."

"Hey. I'm insulted. And size doesn't matter, I'll let you know."

"Yeah, that's what they all say..."

Sam listens to the siblings bickering, a rueful smile on his lips, thinking of his own brother and all their pointless conversations. Like every time he witnesses the uncomplicated Warren relationship, he's filled with fondness and longing.

Karen is also watching Zach and Rebecca with a smirk.

"Siblings, I swear," she quips, "can't live with them, can't live without them. Do you have any brothers or sisters, Sam?"

The Warrens stop talking, and watch Sam in awkward silence. Karen, confusion obvious on her face, seems taken aback by the reaction to her innocent question.

"What? What did I say?"

"Uh, the thing is," Becky begins nervously, "Sam doesn't really talk about his family."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I just..."

"No, it's okay," Sam interrupts, blushing furiously, not liking how he has suddenly become the center of everyone's attention. He doesn't want to talk about his brother, but he doesn't want to deny his existence either, because it would feel too much like betrayal. "I have a big brother. But, uh, we're not really talking, right now." _But occasionally, I hear his voice in my head. Cool, isn't it?_

It's Becky who breaks the silence by talking about classes and teachers, or something like that – Sam finds it difficult to pay attention to what she's saying, but he knows he has never felt so grateful.

Later, when he's returning to his room, it's dark, almost night, but he has trouble diverting his mind from the weight of his phone in his jeans' pocket. He stops, puts his bag on the ground and leans against a wall. There's nobody around, and it's too dark to see much but Sam isn't afraid – he's accustomed to darkness, and confident in his ability to defend himself if he needs to.

He plays for several minutes with the buttons on his phone, feeling on the edge of indecision, and it's almost by accident that he ends up pressing the call button. When he hears ringing, his heart starts to pound, and he thinks about hanging up, but the voice of his brother at the end of the line stops him short.

"Sam? Sammy, is that you?"

It's Dean's voice, the real Dean, Dean-who-is-not-a-voice-in-his-head, and for a few seconds Sam's mouth is too dry to speak.

"Sam? You there?"

He's suddenly panicked at the thought of Dean hanging up before he could say something, so he hastily replies:

"Uh, yes, it's me. You... you okay?"

"I'm fine. And you?"

"Good."

An embarrassed silence follows, and Sam starts to regret having called. They're not used to calling each other just to talk – especially since they were together all the time, only two months ago. The things Sam wants to tell his brother, he can't bring himself to voice them out loud without even seeing Dean's face. To tell him that he misses him, so fucking much. To ask him if his father is still mad at him, if he really wants never to see him again. To ask him why he didn't take his side during the fight with Dad. _Why do you always side with him? _No, these are things he definitively can't say to Dean when it's the first time they've talked in two months.

"How is school?"

Sam talks a little about his life at college, Dean commenting in all the right places. He doesn't know whether his brother is really interested in his life, or if he has only asked to break the awkward silence – it's disconcerting, because not so long ago he knew how to decipher his older sibling's slightest intonation.

So he doesn't know if it's his imagination, but he thinks his brother sounds a bit slurred. It could be that he's sleepy, or drunk, but Sam can't get rid of an awful suspicion.

"Dean, you sure you're okay?"

"Huh? Why d'you ask?"

"I don't know, you sound..."

"I sound what? Fuck, Sam, would it kill you to get to the point?"

"Shit, I don't know! You sound weird, that's all! Are you…drunk or something?"

Only silence answers him, and Sam begins to wonder if he's alone, if Dean hasn't gone and left the phone on a table or something.

"No, I'm not drunk," Dean finally answers, his tone terse. Offended, maybe.

"So... Did you take meds?" He feels sick to his stomach. "Are you hurt? Sick? Dean? Is it serious?"

"I'm talking to you, right? I'm not dying, Sam. You know how it is. You're not fast enough, and ... Shit happens. I took some painkillers, yes, and I'm a little tired, but that's it. No reason to freak out, really."

"Where's Dad?"

"He's left to get us something to eat. It's not like I need a baby-sitter, Sam."

"That's not what I..." He sighs, irritated. "So, what happened?"

"You sure you want to know?" and this time, Sam doesn't fail to recognize the bitterness in his brother's voice.

And the truth is he doesn't want to know, not really. He'd rather not think about it at all, about his brother or father being hurt, maimed, killed somewhere in the country while he's working, or sleeping, or going out with his friends. His silence must be eloquent enough, because Dean says:

"Well, Sammy, I'm sure you've got a lot to do… Homework and… stuff."

"Dean..."

"And I really need to take a nap, so..."

What Sam can answer to that, huh? So that's about it – they say goodbye and hang up; the conversation lasted 20 minutes and 9 seconds. Sam would like to say that he feels better now, but he doesn't. He tells himself he'll call again later, will try to fix things, and then starts walking back to his room. It's weird how the night looks so much darker now than barely twenty minutes ago.

---

Jessica Moore – Jess, to her friends – is blonde, beautiful and lively. She's also direct, self-confident and has a somewhat crude a sense of humor, not so different from Dean's – curiously, she also shares her birthday with Sam's big brother. She's made everything around Sam seem brighter and lighter for over a month, and he wakes up every day wondering how he can be so lucky, never quite sure this is not a dream that will disappear in the morning. They met at a party where friends introduced them, which is a very ordinary way to meet, but Sam doesn't mind at all.

For the first time since he's been at Stanford, he feels like he can be completely himself with someone, even if the opaque veil thrown over his past and his family can never be lifted. But in spite of how good things are with Jess, there's a shadow darkening the picture, an uneasiness of which Sam thinks – hopes – Jess remains unaware, but which for him is growing with every passing day. The thing is, they've been together for one month and two weeks, Sam and Jess still haven't had…well... _Sex! Quit acting like a frigid old lady, Sammy, and use the right words!_ He doesn't hear Dean's voice as often since he's been with Jess, but when it comes to his brother's favorite subjects, like sex, the voice can't be silenced, just like the real Dean.

The problem is, in Sam's eyes at least, that he knows Jess has had lovers in the past, and he's still a ... _virgin! – Oh, shut up, Dean._ When he was a teenager, he had a few dates with girls, made out a couple of times, but his brother's exuberant sex life has always inhibited him in all matters related to the other sex. If on all other levels he feels in total harmony with Jess, on this level, he feels inferior, almost a freak for having remained a virgin this long, and he fears his girlfriend's reaction, her disbelief, her teasing, her contempt maybe. He tortures himself extensively thinking about it, wondering if he should talk to Jess, or say nothing and hope that when the time comes his inexperience won't be too blatant, whether to plan for it, or wait until he's carried away by the moment.

Sam is by nature someone methodical and organized; therefore, he chooses planning. Jess's birthday is coming, the first one since they've been together, and Marcus will be at his parents', so they will have the room to themselves. The opportunity is almost too perfect. Dinner at the restaurant, where he will give her the present he bought her, a movie, then they will come to his room, and…

His stomach is a bunch of knots all day. Everything he knows about sex and women, he's learned it from Dean – their father has never said anything on the subject, leaving, like so many other things, the task to his oldest son – and the last thing he wants is to think about his brother, because if he hears Dean's mocking voice at the crucial moment, he knows he won't be able to go through. Except today is also Dean's birthday and Sam wonders about the cosmic irony of that.

So in addition to the apprehension he feels about tonight, Sam is plagued by a nostalgia he has not felt in a long time, and he spends a long time wondering whether or not he should call his brother. He decides not to, because their last conversation didn't go so well – understatement – and Dean probably doesn't want to talk to him, or maybe it's Sam who doesn't want to talk to Dean, he's not sure anymore. He'd just like not to feel like all air has been sucked from his lungs at the thought of this missed opportunity to hear his brother's voice.

If Jess is aware that Sam is distracted – and perceptive as she is, she's probably noticed – she doesn't let it show, and Sam is grateful because he really doesn't want to explain what is going through his mind.

Things go surprisingly well, in the end. Without Sam knowing how they get there, they're suddenly in each other's arms, making out on his bed. Jess has lost her shirt, and Sam is trying to unhook her bra – more enthusiastic than efficient – when he has some sort of panic attack. He pushes his girlfriend back, trying to catch his breath and clear his thoughts.

"Sam? Something wrong?"

Sam feels flushed with embarrassment, fervently hoping against all expectations that the ground will open beneath his feet.

"It's just that... I've never... You know."

He waves his hand, pointing at Jess's half-naked body. She stares at him for a moment, looking confused, and Sam's waiting for an answer, his heart pounding loudly. Then she smiles tenderly, and reaches out to stroke his cheek.

"Oh, honey... It's gonna be fine, I promise."

Sam's fears magically disappear, and nothing exists but Jess.

Some times later, they're both lying on the too narrow bed, huddled against one another, almost lying on each other. Sam is tired, but he wouldn't be able to sleep even if he tried. The tension he felt all day is gone and he feels calmer, closer to Jess than he's ever felt to anyone.

"So, feeling better now?" Jess whispers, even if it's not necessary to speak so softly.

"Better?"

"You don't think I'm completely oblivious, do you? You've been acting weird all day. That's because you were nervous? About tonight?"

Even if he can't see it, he can feel Jess's mischievous smile. Again, heat rises to his cheeks.

"You think it's ridiculous? That I've… planned this?"

"Not ridiculous. Actually, I find it kind of sweet."

"Sweet, huh?"

"And come on, you're not the only person in the world who plans this kind of thing."

They settle in a comfortable silence for a moment, until Jess speaks again.

"Nothing else was on your mind?"

Sam hears how carefully she tries to word her question. He knows that Jess respects the many secrets surrounding him, and maybe she even finds it attractive, but he's also aware that she hopes he'll eventually trust her with them. And it breaks Sam's heart to think that it will never be possible. But at this moment, he feels so close to Jess, so at peace, that he wants to share with her something of his past, something intimate and precious.

"I want to show you something."

He untangles himself gently from Jess and gets out of the bed. He's naked, and he can feel his girlfriend's eyes on him. It makes him feel uneasy, flattered, and strangely aroused. He's not used to be on the receiving end of that kind of look, or to walking naked in front of someone else, and he's still not sure to deserve Jess's appreciation.

He moves around in the darkness with an ease derived from his experience as a hunter, finds his jacket lying on the floor with the rest of their clothes, and searches through his pockets until he finds what he's looking for – his wallet. Then he comes back to the bed, aware of Jess's increasing curiosity and deliberately playing with it.

"Turn on the light, would you?"

While Jess obeys, he opens his wallet and gets out the picture of his brother he's kept for two years – since he left for college. He gives it to Jess without a word, suddenly too emotional to speak. She eyes the picture carefully, and he takes the opportunity to have a look at it for the first time in a long time. The photo isn't a good one, a bit blurry, with too much light. Dean has a hand over his eyes to protect them from the sun, there's an oil stain on his cheek and he wears torn jeans and a gray t-shirt that has seen better days. Behind him is the Impala, sparkling under the sun – he was working on it at the time the picture was taken.

Jess takes several minutes to study the picture, probably trying to guess who is the man on it, and what Sam wants to tell her, what the message is. Then she raises her head, looking sorry, as if she was afraid of having failed a test. Sam's heart fills with tenderness.

"Sam? Who's this?"

"My brother. Dean. It's an old photo. And not a very good one, but... it's him. My only brother."

Sadness darkens Jess's blue eyes, and Sam suddenly realizes what she must think about this brother he's never mentioned. He is quick to correct the misunderstanding.

"Oh, he's still alive. But I haven't seen him since I got into Stanford. And Dean doesn't like to have his picture taken, so I didn't have much of a choice. In fact, I'm the one who took that picture, by surprise, so that's why it's not good. He's eighteen years old in this, but he's actually older than me, four years older. To tell you everything... Today he's turning twenty-five."

Jess raises a surprised eyebrow.

"Well, what a coincidence."

"Isn't it?"

"But why..."

"I've never told you I had a brother?"

Jess nods. He knows she's disappointed, even if she hides it well, perhaps because she doesn't want to waste this too rare opportunity to have him talk to her. Jess had an older sister she's never known, who died when she was five months old, and apart from Jess, the Moores never had any other children. So Jess lives on stories about other people's siblings, longing for something she has never known. Sam understands this all too well, and he knows that to her, the fact that he never told her about his brother is a form of betrayal.

He sighs, tries to think of the right words to explain Dean and their relationship, without revealing too much.

"It's complicated... I haven't seen my brother in a while, we haven't talk on the phone for some time either..."

"You guys aren't close?"

Sam snorts. If only they weren't, everything would be so much simpler.

"No, that's not it... But when I left for college, I cut all ties with my family and my past.... Dean and me, we talked on the phone a few times after that, but we always ended up fighting. And it was hard, because we never used to fight so much. We bickered, sure, constantly, but real fights... So, it was easier not to talk to him, I think."

"What were you fighting about?"

"About..." Sam sighs again. That's the conversation he feared, that's why he never spoke of Dean until now. His brother is impossible to untangle from the tragedy of the Winchester family, from hunting, from the creatures that go bump into the night, all the things he can't tell his girlfriend who has always lived a blessed normal life. He begins to regret that he took the damn picture out of his wallet.

"It's complicated, isn't it?" Jess gently finishes, before sighing when he remains silent. "You know you don't have to tell me anything you don't want, Sam. I'm not forcing you to do anything. But why tell me about your brother now?"

"I... I wanted to share something of my life from before, something important to me. Dean... It's not that I don't love my brother. But there're things... I'm sorry, Jess, I know you have questions, but..."

"Don't worry about it, Sam. I mean it. There's no pressure. Thanks for telling me about your brother." She waves the picture, and smiles teasingly. "He's kinda hot, by the way."

"Oh, _please."_

"Good looks must run in the family."

They kiss, and Sam is relieved that the subject has been dropped, though he's the one who started the conversation. A bad idea, really, born of the illusory euphoria following sex. He knows that Jess will want more, even if she doesn't press for the moment. And he can't give her what she wants. He just can't.

He thinks once again of his brother, and it's like saying farewell. No matter what he wants, no matter what he dreams, real life is harsh; Sam knows that, and he's afraid Jess and Dean belong to two different worlds that can't be reconciled.

_Happy birthday, bro._

Only the soft feeling of Jess's arms around him makes the sorrow and the regret bearable.

---

Christmas is a business that has made Sam uncomfortable for years. Maybe it's the frenzy that seems to possess people when the holidays approach, the crowd invading the stores, the too bright, too showy decorations spontaneously arising everywhere, so that one can't watch TV, can't have a conversation with anyone without Christmas being mentioned, who's spending Christmas with whom, what will be on the table for Christmas, what present to give for Christmas.

Maybe it's because Christmas is supposed to be a family event and Sam doesn't really have a family anymore – or it feels like it, anyway. And maybe it's also because when he looks back at his childhood, he sees too many Christmases spent in seedy motels, Christmases when John wasn't there, or had completely forgotten the event and was discreetly reminded by Dean, until finally, years before his departure for college, they didn't pay any attention to the date, and Sam thinks that it's better like that. You can't be disappointed when you don't expect anything.

Since he's been at Stanford, Sam has spent all his Christmases alone, all his friends going back to their families for the holidays. To those who were worried about what he would do, he vaguely answered that he was going to some people's house without ever specifying who. He sometimes thought about spending it at Bobby's, or Pastor Jim's, but he didn't want to feel like he's doing this behind his father and brother's backs. So he has always tried to ignore Christmas, which is not as easy as it sounds.

This year he's invited to Jess's parents', and it's his first real Christmas in... It's maybe his first real Christmas. The year before, he hadn't been going out with Jess long enough for an invitation.

It's not the first time that Sam has met his girlfriend's parents. First, there was the birthday of Jess's mother, then her father's birthday, her parents' wedding anniversary, Thanksgiving, and Sam is dizzy with all these occasions to gather and celebrate, because he's not accustomed to that, not at all. Winchesters don't celebrate. Winchesters remember, mourn, hunt, fight, and occasionally enjoy the satisfaction of a warrior after the battle, but God bless them, they never party.

The Moores are warm and friendly people. Mrs. Moore is blonde like her daughter, a literature teacher in high school, nice and smiling like Sam thinks a mother must be, Mr. Moore isn't very talkative, but is easygoing, unlike John Winchester who isn't talkative either but is stern.

Sam thinks they like him, at least Jess says they like him, but he can also feel some distrust on their part, that's the kind of thing he has learned to pick up on. And frankly, he can't blame them. Jess is their only child, their baby, and it's quite normal that they'd be worried about the boy she's dating – the boy she's living with, now, because it's been two months since Sam and Jess have moved in together – especially when the boy in question has a past as mysterious as a former hit man, and a family whose existence remains to be proven.

Therefore, Jess's parents aren't a problem; Christmas itself is a problem, that and the fact it is an opportunity for Sam to meet not only his girl's parents, but her whole family, which, as Sam soon realizes, is no small feat.

"So, here is Aunt Bess, Mom's older sister, Uncle Marty, their daughters Lily, Joan, Abby. Over there is my grandmother, my dad's mother. The kid hiding behind the tree is..."

All the new names and faces quickly confuse Sam, and he hopes there won't be a quiz at the end of their stay. Jess may be an only child, but she largely makes up for it with the number of her uncles, aunts, grandparents, and cousins. Sam didn't know it was possible to have that much family – he literally feels overwhelmed.

Jess introduces him to each of them, proud and loving, and every time it earns him a comment such as "_Oh, Sam, right_" in various tones and pointed looks betraying how much Jess's family have been talking about him, which makes him even more uncomfortable if possible.

Christmas at the Moores' is... well, it's Christmas like Sam has only ever seen it on TV, the kind of Christmas Dean has always said could not exist for real, with the same conviction with which he asserts that aliens or Bigfoot don't exist, _it's just impossible, Sam, be serious, nobody actually does that_.

There's the tree in the living room, huge and decorated with shimmering tinsels, glass balls, small wooden figures, and triumphantly topped by a sparkling gold star. Something childlike awakens in Sam, and he has to refrain from saying "Oooh..." in wonder when he enters the room. This is the kind of tree he has only seen in malls, or through the windows of other people's houses. The kind that would never have had enough room in a small motel room.

And there's more than just a tree, of course, there's a whole lot of decoration to go with it, as if the house itself was dressed up for Christmas. The wreath on the front door, the garlands everywhere, on furniture, wrapped around the staircase banister, and lots of other bright unidentified stuff hanging in each room. It all makes Sam a little dizzy, he's afraid of being clumsy and breaking something by accident, and he doesn't know where to put himself, especially when every inch of the house appears to be occupied by one of the countless members from Jess's family.

There are all sorts of Christmas activities Sam didn't think people actually did. They sing Christmas carols, of which he only vaguely knows the tune. They drink eggnog, and Sam is sniffing the drink with a little distrust, until Jess whispers to him what it is. He's aware that she is carefully observing him, taking note of how he's as comfortable here as if he had landed in the middle of medieval China.

They've been together for a year, and Jess has never tried to press the issue of his family and his childhood, but he knows she collects evidence, and that one day he'll have to give a pretty good explanation. His scars, in particular, are something that disturbs her very much. After their first night together, for Jess's twentieth birthday – Dean's twenty-fifth – they both have had ample opportunity to learn each other's bodies by heart, and Jess couldn't fail to notice these marks, unusual in their number – even though Dean has even more, but of course it would do no good to say that to Jess – and often also by their shape. He tried to explain all of them in a satisfactory manner, but he realizes that it was not enough to appease his girlfriend's mind.

Sam knows Jess assumes his father abused him, although she has never shared her thoughts aloud. He's ashamed that he doesn't try to set her straight. Ashamed of what feels like a betrayal of his father, who despite all his faults has never raised a hand on him or his brother, ashamed of letting Jess mull over scenarios each more horrifying than the next. But as long as she's not asking questions, he remains silent.

His behavior tonight probably doesn't speak in favor of John Winchester. And Sam feels resentful towards his father, who made him this maladapted person who doesn't know how to behave in a simple Christmas with the family. During dinner, he tries not to draw attention to himself. He tries not to gape at the huge amount of food, undoubtedly more than he has ever seen, and at a meal with more than two courses. Previous dinners with the Moores have not prepared him for this kind of tasty marathon.

He feels lost in the middle of the conversations crossing around the table, all those people who have a lot to say to each other and are a family, so he focuses on his plate. He tries a little of everything, to Mrs. Moore's delight, because knowing what it is to be hungry, he has learned to enjoy food when it's there. He receives in return teasing comments on his appetite, and these comments, though friendly, makes him feel awkward. He doesn't have his brother's nerve, and he wants these people to appreciate him, but he feels alien, out-of-place.

Everyone is nice with him and the atmosphere is warm, but after a while Sam feels like there's not enough air for him to breathe. So when the family decides to take a short break before dessert – especially for the children, who won't sit quietly any longer – he gets out and sits on the porch for a few moments.

It's night, but the temperature is mild – the advantage of winter in California. It's quiet, and with the help of silence and darkness, Sam quickly calms down. The sky is brightly starry, as it is in places away from big cities, midnight blue velvet dotted with gems.

He's joined by Jess, hesitant as if she was afraid of not being welcome, cautious the way she is when she feels she's about to touch upon his darker side. He offers her a smile to reassure her.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

"Yes. Yes, of course. It's just that, all this... I'm not used to it. Christmases were not like that at home."

"So what were they like?"

He thinks seriously about his answer. He doesn't want to darken furthermore the image Jess is painting of his childhood. He thinks again of the Christmases he had, back when they were still celebrated Christmas, and among the gray and miserable memories, he finds a few warm moments. Like this Christmas at Pastor Jim's when they helped him prepare the Mass, receiving small gifts from the parishioners in exchange. The one when Dad has been offered pastries from a family he had saved, and they ate cake for three days. The one when Sam gave Dean the amulet he intended for his father, and saw his brother's face lighten with unadulterated joy. The only time he saw Dean with a similar look on his face is the day when Dad gave him the Impala.

"Christmas at home... well, let say it was less impressive."

"Yeah, I guess. There're always a lot of us each year. Mom insists on gathering everyone. She says it's supposed to be a family celebration, and that it's the only opportunity we have to all be together."

"A family celebration, yes."

He can't help but think about his own family, because that's what they still are, in spite of everything. They always will be, even if he spends his entire life without ever seeing them again. What are they doing right now? They're not celebrating Christmas, that's for sure. Maybe they're hunting – wouldn't be surprising. Thinking about this, he feels a familiar lump weighing on him stomach. He wonders whether this weight will ever completely disappear.

"Do you miss them?" Jess asks suddenly.

"Who?"

"Your family. Dean," she adds, because his brother is the family member she knows the most about – which is not much.

"Yes," he answers honestly, without specifying if he's speaking about his family or just about Dean.

She watches him again with that attentive look in her eyes, as if she was trying to collect the scattered pieces of the puzzle and make them a coherent whole. She waits for a moment to see if he adds something – for example, why he doesn't call them if he really misses them – then as nothing comes, she stands up and says:

"Wanna go back inside? I'm cold."

He casts another glance at the darkness, the environment the Winchesters prefer, before he lets Jess leading him inside the house, towards the noise, the warmth, the light.

---

The Californian landscape unfolds through the passenger window of the Impala, under the pale light of dawn, and Sam is lost in thoughts. Next to him, Dean is driving in silence.

He had swore never to hunt again, then a few well chosen words, a lost look from his brother, and he's changed his mind so fast his head is still spinning. He's still a bit stunned by what has happened – a little annoyed too. He's not sure Jess was happy with this turn of events, and now he feels guilty for how he handled things with her. He'll have to find a way to make it up to her.

Just a few days ago, before Dean broke into the middle of the night _looking for a beer_, Sam's path was clear-cut. He would go to law school, would marry Jess – well, he hasn't propose to her yet, but he can't imagine her refusing – he would become a lawyer, they would both settle in Palo Alto, or elsewhere in California, because Jess loves the sun and Sam loves seeing Jess happy, they would have children, at least two, because neither of them want to have their child grow up alone, boys or girls, it doesn't matter. One could say – Dean surely would – that his dreams are ordinary and boring, but Sam has lived with uncertainty and danger throughout his childhood and adolescence, and he had enough. He's done with it.

He's made his choice, because it's always about choices, and he knows deep down that it means abandoning his family, even if he doesn't like to think about it. He's still angry with his father, but things are different when it comes to his brother. Yet after two years without talking, he's managed to convince himself that he's ready to live with that sacrifice. After all, he'll have his own family, his life, and also, in some secret part of his mind, he still hopes that maybe one day he will find a way to reconnect with Dean, maybe if their mother is finally avenged, he could convince him to abandon the hunt, maybe...

Now he no longer knows, he's not so sure anymore. All his plans have lost some of their luster. He thinks back to the hunt they've just completed, turns all the details in his mind again and again, trying to bring some kind of order to his thoughts.

They left in the Impala in the direction of Jericho, Sam barely realizing he had just agreed – against everything he thinks is reasonable – to go hunting with Dean. That they will perhaps find their father, and he will have to face him after four years and the hateful words they've thrown to each other's faces.

This is the first time they've seen each other in four years, the silence has settled and neither of them know what to do with that. Silence never used to be a problem for them; they didn't need to talk to feel comfortable together. But this silence is heavy with things that were said and others that were not, things that have changed while others remained the same.

Sam watches, torn between familiarity and strangeness. There are differences, which are obvious – his brother seems harsher, more distant, more a hunter than ever – but there's also Sam's point of view which is different because he has changed too, has matured. He sees a vulnerability in Dean, a desperation that makes him feel uncomfortable – maybe because for the first time, facing his brother on an equal footing, Sam can see a flash of the man he is beyond the big brother and parent substitute. He catches the looks Dean is casting at him, and he assumes his brother is having similar thoughts. He wonders what he sees, and what he thinks about it.

Then they begin to hunt, and Sam is surprised to see how easily they fall back into their old habits. The banter, the bickering, and this synchronization Sam has never shared with anyone else, not even with Jess, because it's not with her he has lived for eighteen years without any privacy, and has been trained to act and think as one unit. To say the same thing at the same time, to complete each other's sentences, to move in instinctive agreement with one another – they fit together like corresponding pieces of a puzzle, and this is almost as if the four years separation had not existed, if not for some slight dissonances.

Hunting isn't exactly as Sam remembered. Perhaps it's his father's absence, his orders, his demands, his suffocating supervision. Working in tandem with Dean is more relaxed, almost fun. In the end, Sam is surprised to realize that he's almost enjoyed this job. There are feelings he had forgotten – the excitement of research, the elation of discovering a legendary entity he hasn't met so far – Dad once said that curiosity has always been his best quality and his worse flaw – this blissful feeling when everything makes sense at last, the attraction of danger, the addictive power of adrenaline.

He finds it disturbing, because it shows his belonging to the world of hunting he tried to escape for four years, that despite all his efforts, he's still not normal – maybe never will, which Dean keeps repeating him. It underlines the lies surrounding him, the secrets, and he acts as if they had no importance, even as a voice in his head – Dean's, always – is whispering that there's perhaps nothing more important. _Does Jess know who you are?_

"What are you thinking about?"

Dean's voice suddenly breaking the silence startles Sam.

"What?"

"Well, you're thinking with such intensity I'm afraid you strain something. So, what's on your mind?"

"Oh, uh ... nothing in particular." After a pause, he adds. "I missed you, you know."

"Sammy, that's really adorable. No, seriously. I have no words."

"Oh, shut up. Moron. And it's Sam."

A few minutes of silence, then Dean's voice, again.

"Missed you, too."

Sam smiles, his head turned towards the window.

They arrive in Palo Alto, too early for Sam. Separation will be even more painful than the last time, because at the time Sam was angry, hurt and bitter, and that now he's no longer supported by these emotions. He was so sure, only two days ago, but today he doesn't know if he can, doesn't know if he wants to.

No, in fact, he knows exactly what he wants, he wants to catch Dean by the arm, drag him into the apartment and introduce him properly to Jess, to see them getting to know and appreciate each other. He wants Dean to move in the area, to find a job, meet his friends, be part of his life. But he also knows that his brother doesn't consider any alternative to hunting, and that he hasn't any right to force him to stop hunting, anymore than Dean has the right to drag Sam back into this world.

The break is over; he must go back to his life. He has a crucial interview today with a law school, his future on a plate.

"Call me when you find him."

He hopes his brother can still hear the hidden messages behind his words, as before, and that he understands the invitation, hesitant and awkward, but sincere. _Come back to me. Let us be brothers again._

Dean nods, purses his lips in a way certainly supposed to look detached, but Sam can see he's not convinced. Sam isn't sure he's himself convinced.

Watching the Impala driving away, Sam can't contain a sigh. Even as Dean is leaving, everything in Sam longs to be with him again – it has always been the case, somehow, but it was easier to pretend before having back the familiarity and comfort of their symbiotic relationship, or what remains of it. He doesn't want to sacrifice that again.

Maybe he doesn't need to, he decides. Maybe he doesn't need to choose; if he really wants it, he can manage to reconcile his brother and the dark world of hunting with his new life. He can get Jess and Dean to know each other, introduce his brother to his friends, invite him to his wedding, and why not go hunting with him occasionally, as they did this weekend. As Dean has said, they make one hell of a team; Sam had almost forgotten.

Climbing up the stairs to his apartment, Sam wonders what he will tell Jess about his weekend.

--

Sam looks at his phone screen, at the bright numbers. 2: 37. Another sleepless night for Sam Winchester. A spring of the mattress is broken, and makes an unpleasant bump in his back. Sam moves a little, trying to find a not too uncomfortable position, but all it does is waking up the pain of the bruises he has collected during their last hunt. As if some kind of malevolent cosmic power had decided to do everything in its power so he can't sleep.

For two hours and thirty-seven minutes, it's been January 24. Dean's birthday. Jess's birthday. She would have turned twenty-four years today, Dean perhaps won't live to see thirty, but whatever happens, to Sam the date will be forever synonymous with love and loss, grief and joy. And that may he live another ten, thirty or fifty years.

In the bed next to his, Dean lets out a sigh and turns in his sleep. Sound asleep, the bastard. Sam watches the figure of his brother lying in the dark. During the day he tries to cling on to feelings of irritation and anger that his brother knows so well how to cause, and without which he would no be able to hold it together. Dean's behavior is helping with that – reckless, stupid – _already dead, Sammy, remember_ – as if what little common sense he possessed had burned under the sun. And as usual, impudent, insolent, no manners whatsoever and shitty taste in music - _my God, save me from rock at maximum volume during hours of driving._

But at night, when he can't sleep, like this night, when no one can see him, when there's no work, no people to rescue, no evil creature to kill... well at night, all the emotions he keeps hidden as much as possible during the day return to the surface in wild waves, all aimed at his brother. Tenderness, affection – boundless, desperate – anxiety, grief, despair. Then determination, always. As if to see Dean sleeping, in a more vulnerable position than when awake, was reinforcing his decision to now protect his big brother with everything he has, to save him, whatever the cost – and to Sam those are not empty words.

Dean finds it difficult to accept the new situation, it seems. After spending his entire life – almost – watching out for his little brother, protecting him, rescuing him and basically raising him, the role reversal leaves him out of his depth. But to Sam, it's clear as crystal. Things have changed since their childhood. They're both adults now, but more than that, they're partners, and that means more than protecting each other's backs during the job, because they're also brothers, because they're everything to each other – until death do them apart, and even beyond, apparently.

Sam knows now, since that terrible night in Cold Oak, that Dean can't live without him – and it would almost be funny if it weren't so tragic. But if there's one thing he's sure of, it's that he will never give up – _never _ever,_ got it?_ – no matter what Dean might say, and if there is a Winchester trait Sam has inherited, it's stubbornness. Dean has called him selfish, and he's probably right. Sam counts on this selfishness to lead him to the end of the road.

Stanford feels so far away that it could just as well have only been a dream, or memories of another life. Nightmares about Jess's death, the beautiful pale girl stuck to the ceiling, surrounded by flames, and asking again and again "_Why Sam?"_, these dreams have stopped, but sometimes he sees her the way she was, smiling and laughing, and it's like a ray of sunshine in an otherwise miserable life. The grief hasn't disappeared, but has softened. He still loves Jess, will probably never cease to love her, but somewhere along the way, he gave up on everything she and his years at college represent. A normal life, safe. He's become a hunter, the way Dean has always been, but that Sam had never fully understood until now.

He doesn't feel any bitterness, not anymore. Somehow he's not sure this life has ever been for him, anyway. But the memory of Jess, of college, of his friends, and of these four years are still something he will cherish forever, one of those things – rare things – he can't share with his brother and that only belong to him.

And he keeps fighting; he's not sure how to do any different. His purpose has changed, but Sam doesn't regard it as any less important, or less worthy of putting all his strengths into. He left his dreams behind him, has lost his innocence, perhaps. He's still moving forward. Normality is a very relative concept, anyway, and innocence is overrated.

Dean turns into his bed, and mumbles something barely intelligible. Sam thinks he recognizes his name, Sammy, as well as something that sounds like "bean", and he snorts a laugh. What is his brother dreaming about? Dean's quiet breathing is soothing Sam, bringing him gradually closer to sleep. His last conscious thought is the promise he made to Dean, a promise renewed every day. _No matter what, I'll get you out of this..._

If someone asked exactly how far he's ready to go, he has his answer.

_To Hell and back._


End file.
